The Power of a Word
by Paceso
Summary: The Beatles song 'Hello, Goodbye' is about opposites—about the balance of light and dark, coming and going, sight and blindness, comedy and tragedy. We all experience those opposites, and every event in our lives is comprised of both. And, very often, how you see it is just a matter of which way you're looking at it.


IWSC2 round 5

Beauxbatons 2nd year

Theme: The Three Broomsticks (drama and gossip)

Special rule: incorporate the colour purple and/or its meaning of power

Prompts: [song] 'Hello, Goodbye'–The Beatles; [first line] (main); "Looking back, he could not tell you how he got here."; [word] revenge.

WC: 1346

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Author's Note: The Beatles song 'Hello, Goodbye' is about opposites—about the balance of light and dark, coming and going, sight and blindness, comedy and tragedy. We all experience those opposites, and every event in our lives is comprised of both. And, very often, how you see it is just a matter of which way you're looking at it.

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**The Power of a Word**

**Part 1: You say goodbye**

Looking back, he could not tell you how he got here. There was the obvious, of course—staff from Magical Law Enforcement had bound him and brought him in. But before that? He didn't know. How could it have come to this?

Sirius stared hopelessly at the grey stone walls of his cell. Twenty-four hours ago, James had been laughing, alive. The Marauders had been as they always were, a united band. There had been no need for revenge; no hatred of a traitor choking him with fury.

But since then, his life had collapsed in ruins. James was dead. Peter had betrayed them. Remus would think he, Sirius, was the traitor. The friendships on which he had rested for a decade were gone—gone as if they had never been.

Had it all been an illusion? He recoiled from the thought.

They had been so happy, the four of them. Playing pranks on Filch. Daring each other to ever-bolder deeds. Exploring the castle and discovering its secrets. Life had been filled with laughter and camaraderie. Even the discovery of Remus's 'furry little problem' hadn't affected their unity. They had merely, together, bent their energies to discovering how to join him. They had roamed the castle grounds every full moon, together. They had sweated through exams, together. They had joined Dumbledore's side and fought Death Eaters, together.

In the centre of that togetherness were he and James. Ever since that first day, on the train, James had been there for him. When Slytherins jeered at him for being a turncoat, James was there. When he walked out of his parents' house for the last time, James was there. When James scored at Quidditch, Sirius was there. When James became Head Boy, Sirius was there, laughing at the thought of an unregistered and illegal Animagus being given the highest student rank the school possessed.

And when James had had to hide, Sirius had been there, willing to shoulder the burden of the Fidelius Charm, eager to protect his friend. But then he had realised that he was the obvious target. As soon as it was known that James was under a Fidelius, Death Eaters would be sure to pursue Sirius. He had suggested to James a stupendous double bluff—let it be Peter who became the Secret-Keeper, for who would ever think that he would be thought worthy of it?

Sirius shuddered. Every word of the conversation was etched in his mind—how James had laughed the idea to scorn at first, and how, fearful for James's safety, he had alternately coaxed and argued until his friend finally agreed. Had anyone ever made a worse decision, or borne greater responsibility for a disaster? What power there was in a word! He could not have dreamed that, in persuading James to his scheme, he was signing his best friend's death warrant.

Sirius winced at the memory of James crumpled in a heap at the foot of the stairs. The burning hunger for revenge had begun then, its fire fanned by the sight of Lily upstairs and bursting into white-hot flame when he saw his anguished godson and the lightning-bolt scar. He had had no thought in his mind beyond hunting down the traitor and killing him. Revenge, revenge, revenge—the word resounded in his brain like a martial drumbeat.

He thought he had won when he finally cornered Peter, but it turned out the traitor had had one last card to play. Sirius cursed at the realisation that Wormtail had used every bit of knowledge they had so patiently taught him—how to transform, the _Sectumsempra_, and the necessity for quick thinking and even quicker reflexes—in his final desperate bid to escape. They had doomed themselves, long ago.

He knew his freedom was gone forever. There was no point in fighting it. There was little the Dementors could do to him anyway, for he had no happy thoughts for them to feed on. He was innocent, yet at the same time wracked with guilt.

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**Part 2: I say hello**

Looking back, he could tell you exactly how he got here. There was the obvious, of course—heading across Europe toward the deep forests of Albania. And before that? The path was crystal clear. He couldn't have imagined a better ending than this.

Peter gazed contentedly at the grey-brown trunks of the trees. Twenty-four hours ago, James had been laughing at him…again. The Marauders had been as they always were, three and one. He had been simmering with revenge, the hatred a constant bubbling obsession.

But since then, his life had improved immeasurably. James was dead. He, Peter, had escaped. Remus would think Sirius was the traitor. The friendships on which the others had rested for a decade were gone—gone as if they had never been.

They had lived in illusion. He exulted in the thought that they knew it now.

They had thought themselves so happy, the three of them. Playing pranks on Filch. Daring each other to ever-bolder deeds. Exploring the castle and discovering its secrets. Always almost ignoring his presence. _Their_ lives had been filled with laughter and camaraderie. Even the discovery of Remus's 'furry little problem' hadn't jeopardised their unity. They had merely, together, bent their energies to discovering how to join him. They had roamed the castle grounds every full moon, together. They had sweated through exams, together. They had joined Dumbledore's side and fought Death Eaters, together.

But on the periphery of that togetherness had been he, Peter. James and Sirius, secure in the centre, often laughed _at_ him rather than _with_ him. At every small failing, James had laughed. At every small weakness, Sirius had jeered. Together, they had scorned and belittled him with constant jibes which hurt all the more from being unable to escape. Even as Animagi, they had been three and one, and he had suffered their ridicule.

And when James had had to hide, Sirius had been there, scorning the idea that anyone else could shoulder the burden of the Fidelius Charm. Until, that was, he had realised that he was the obvious target. Peter had known that, too, and had been eagerly anticipating the Death Eaters pursuing Sirius. But then had come Sirius's stupendous double bluff—let it be Peter who became the Secret-Keeper, for who would ever think that he would be thought worthy of it?

Peter sneered. Every word of the conversation was etched in his mind—how, even once they had agreed on it and come to him with the suggestion, James had laughed scornfully at the idea and Sirius had explained his reasons in insulting detail. But had anyone ever made a better decision for Peter, or given him greater opportunity to triumph? What power there was in a word! He could not have dreamed that they would provide him with such a superb prize to offer the Dark Lord.

Peter gloated at the memory of James crumpled in a heap at the foot of the stairs. His burning desire for revenge had lessened slightly at the sight of one of his tormentors removed. His hatred was momentarily satisfied by the wholesale destruction. He had had no thought left in his mind then beyond avoiding Sirius's reprisals. Escape, escape, escape—the word rang in his brain like an alarm bell.

He thought he had lost when he was finally cornered, but the discovery that no-one else knew of the exchange of Secret-Keepers had given him one last card to play. Wormtail laughed gleefully at having used every bit of knowledge they had so patiently taught him—how to transform, the _Sectumsempra_, and the necessity for quick thinking and even quicker reflexes—in his final desperate bid to escape. They had doomed themselves, long ago.

He knew he had at last gained freedom. There was no more need to fight for it. There was nothing they could do to him now, for he had happy thoughts they could never take away. Guilty he may have been, yet he exulted in his innocence.


End file.
